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Quote by Karen Chance

“I moved to assist, but never got the chance. there was some pretty violent banging for a minute, and then a tearing sound. Finally the stall door flew open, and Ray's shirtless body emerged and started bitch-slapping everything in sight. His aim was off, probably due to the difficulty of having his eyes on the other side of the room, but he made up for it with sheer determination.”

Book:Death's Mistress

Work

Death's Mistress

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Author

Karen Chance

Karen Chance is an American novelist known for her fantasy novels. Her works blend elements of magic, adventure, and romance, enjoying great popularity among readers. more

“On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless!--but his horror was still more increased on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle!”

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“I do believe losing your head has made you more intelligent.”

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Book:The Robe of Skulls

Source: The Robe of Skulls

“The dead don’t give up anything, but the living do.”

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Book:St. Patrick's Day Murder

Source: St. Patrick's Day Murder

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, feeling a large hollowness growing inside him. “You know quite well, don’t you?” replied the crow, hopping up onto the bar with a neat flap of his wings. The bird cocked his head and looked him in the eye. “Don’t tell me an Irishman like you, born and bred in the old country, has forgotten the tale of Cú Chulainn?” “’Tisn’t the sort of thing you can forget,” he told the crow. “Especially that statue in the Dublin General Post Office. A handsome piece of work that is, illustrating how Cú Chulainn knew death was near and tied himself to a post so he could die standing upright, like the hero he was.” “Cú Chulainn was a hero indeed,” admitted the crow. “And his enemies couldn’t kill him until the Morrighan lit on his shoulder, stealing his strength, weakening him…” “Right you are. The Morrighan,” he said. The very thought of that fearsome warrior goddess, with her crimson cloak and chariot, set his heart to pounding in his bony old chest. “And what form did the Morrighan take, might I ask?” inquired the bird. “A crow,” he said, feeling a great trembling overtake him. “So is that it? Are you the Morrighan come for me?” “What do you think Daniel Malone?”